Head Games
by i'mnotcrazy82
Summary: House and Cuddy become bored during a poker game. House makes a little wager. Is Cuddy up for the Challenge? A Two-shot inspired by All In. Huddy. Rated M for Huddy smut
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N - Forgive me for being away for so long. Readers of my paused fics, there's a special comment for you at the bottom of the page :-) (Nothing bad, cross-my-heart!)_**

**_Now, for this, I was watching All In, and felt a little inspired. It takes place around that time. It's a little two shot. Forgive me, the smut's gonna be in part two, which will be up SUNDAY. I hope you enjoy this, it's a little different from some of my other works. It's all from Cuddy's POV. I hope I've kept them in character._**

**_Thanks for reading, and as always, I own nothing but a battered laptop with a missing 'n' key. DS owns everything, the lucky bastard, but I thank him for sharing his toys with us :-)  
_**

**Chapter One:**

**Ante Up**

* * *

**Part of me wishes that I'd never made that stupid bet.**

**It was poker night, and I was with my boys. Jimmy, so sweet, so compassionate, so gullible next to Greg and me. We'd stripped him of his cash, and now, thanks to Greg, we were stripping him of his clothes.**

**And ours.**

**"It'll be fun," Greg had crooned, so sweetly manipulating us, like he always did. The puppet master, a cigar clenched between his teeth, a scotch in one had, his cards in the other, palm down on the table. "Shits and giggles."**

**"Shits and giggles," I'd echoed, having had one more gin and tonic in my system than I'd ought to have had, given the situation before me. "You just want to see me naked." Oh, God, where'd that come from. Stupid liquid courage. I'd get into these pissing contests, thinking I could best the boys, only to regret it the next day.**

**Oh, they'd never tell, but they let me know they'd remember, with winking eyes, knowing smirks, and subtle innuendo. But this is the first time that Greg'd mentioned removal of clothing. Usually, he'd just try to get me to say something he could use against me later, and I played the same game.**

**Jimmy'd turned bright red. He was in the uncomfortable situation of being in the middle of one of Greg's games. Metaphorically and literally.**

**"Nononono," he'd stammered, his blush reaching the tops of his ears. Greg and I had a small pile of cash in front of us, while Jimmy had nothing.**

**"Look, Jimmy." Greg had nonchalantly waved his cigar wielding had towards him. "If you don't you can't stay in the game. Ergo, the game ends." Those baby blues of his had never left me. "And, I don't feel like ending the game yet."**

**"Sorry," Jimmy shook his head, running a hand through those wavy brown locks. "I just don't feel like parading in my underwear in front of you guys."**

**"Oh," I giggled, the gin in my system making me feel oh so bold. I was the fucking Queen of Sheba at the table. "They way you're playing, we'll have you walking home naked." I took a puff on my own cigar, watching two sets of eyes grow wide at my comments.**

**Greg choked on his scotch. "Jesus, woman," he sputtered. "Next time, give a guy a little warning before spouting off like that." He gave me one of his piercing looks, but instead of contempt, I saw lust blazing in those baby blues. Good to know how I could turn him on at the drop of a hat, or word, as it was, like that. It seemed like he liked his women to talk a little dirty. "You're libel to give a man a heart attack, saying something like that." _Or an boner_. The thoughts blazing out of his eyes were clear as water.**

**Jimmy turned a shade of red so dark he was almost purple. Seriously, this man was Greg's best friend, but he became so embarrassed so quickly. It just wasn't natural. "You had to remind me of that," he muttered, softly, not happy that I'd called him out. He looked at Greg, the smug smirk seemingly permanently grafted on to his aristocratic features. "No way," Jimmy tried to declare, but the wavering in his voice told us both that we had him. Like two foxes cornering a wayward rabbit.**

**"C'mon Jimmy," Greg puffed on his cigar. Oh, I'm sure he was processing what I was up to. After all, we tended to keep things metaphorically under the table, as it was. Usually, he was the one to bring the innuendo to the table. I would shoot back my snarky replies, but this was always his game, his tease. Now that the tables had been turned, his over educated brain was trying to figure out what it meant. "It'll be fun," he told his friend, essentially, in his way, calling Jimmy a coward.**

**And it worked.**

**** ** ** ** ** ****

**"Okay," Jimmy sighed, and four hands in, we'd stripped Jimmy down to his socks and tighty whities.**

**Red faced and mortified, he slammed his hand down on the table. "I fold." He picked up his clothes. "I'm done," he declared, obviously embarrassed by us literally taking the shirt off his back. I had to admit, I was a little proud. When Greg and I teamed up, we were damn near unstoppable.**

**"Damn it, Jimmy," Greg whined, cigar clenched between his teeth. "You're no fucking fun."**

**"No, Greg," Jimmy sighed, pulling on his jeans. "I'm done, and I'm not parading around naked for your amusement." He gave Greg, who'd only lost his button down over shirt, a pointed glare. "I'm not showing up on your facebook page again. Especially not naked."**

**"Facebook is so last year," Greg pointed out. "I'd tweet that shit now."**

**"You have a twitter?" Jimmy was so clueless.**

**"Yup, and nearly 600 followers." He leaned back in his chair, like the king of the fucking castle. Smugness and arrogance exuded from him, filling up the room. The man didn't have a humble bone in his body. He gave Jimmy a look, lifting a grizzled graying eyebrow. "You're a chickenshit."**

**"And you're an ass," Jimmy grumbled, getting out of his seat. "'Night, Lise," he muttered, pulling his pants on. He sighed, "Same time next week?"**

**"Yeah," Greg answered for me. "Bring more cash."**

**"Technically, those winnings are my money, considering how much you owe me.**  
**Jimmy continued to grouse, pulling on his shirt.**

**"Technicalities are for lawyers and administrators," he winked at me.**

**"Whatever," Jimmy sighed. "Lunch tomorrow?"**

**"Always. Now, get the hell out of my apartment."**

**Jimmy left, and I stretched in my seat. I'd lost my shirt, too, but I still had the camisole on that I wore underneath my blouse. The blouse had been the only article of clothing I'd lost.**

**I'd been the last one to show up at the game, so while the boys were in jeans and t-shirts, I'd come in my office attire. That fact had not been lost on the boys, especially Greg, who's eyes had been practically plastered to my cleavage all night. Even Jimmy had been sneaking peaks, but his presence had tempered the smoldering looks that Greg was now giving me.. So, now that it was just us two, the tension had risen to epic levels. "I should be going, now that the game is over." I didn't really want to leave, but the room was starting to feel stifling.**

**"Ah, Mistress of the Cunning Cleavage," he smirked at me. "I think the game is just beginning." I tilted my head, waiting for him to continue, but I kept my best poker face on. I wanted him to reveal his hand, before he realized I had no Ace in the hole. He cleared his throat, taking a sip of scotch. "I'm not ready to quit, yet." He eyed me, arching an eyebrow. "You're still fully clothed."**

**"You think you can beat me?"**

**He smirked, knowingly. "Judging by how much gin you've been drinking this evening, I'm certain I can get you down to your lacy thong." He looked at me closely. "Peach bra, peach thong," he snorted, causing me to lift my eyebrows in surprise. "I always thought red was more your color."**

**"How did you know..." I looked down, and I saw that the lace tops of my strapless bra cups were peeking out from my camisole. I put on my best poker face, trying not to get irritated. "You're on," I declared. "Shuffle the damn cards."**

**Four hands in, Greg was shirtless and sock less, and reluctantly stripping off his jeans. "How the hell am I losing to you," he grunted. "Belts should count." He muttered, undoing the buckle."**

**I just gave him on of my own Cheshire grins. I was beating the great Greg House at his own game; I could afford to be a little smug. "Take it off," I teased.**

**"_You're _the one that's supposed to be doing this," he continued to complain.**

**My eyebrows shot up. "Well," I deliberately sipped my drink. "You could start winning?" I used the same dry tone that I usually used when he tried to get out of doing his Clinic hours.**

**It was his turn to give me a sly grin, and my stomach sank at his look. I should have known better than to say something like that.**

**An hour later, I was in nothing but my thong and bra.**

**I sighed. "I fold."**

**My hand was shit, and he grinned. "You really had nothing that could beat a pair of threes?"**

**I blushed, and I shook my head, slightly embarrassed. But, I was a big girl, and these games come with consequences. I began to reach behind me, to unsnap my bra, but he shook his head and stopped me.**

**"I think it's time we up the ante."**

**"Oh, really?" I lifted a finely arched eyebrow. "What kind of game do you propose?"**

**He shuffled the cards, a lazy, Cheshire grin stretching across his lips. "I think it's time we go all in." He leaned forward. "I win, I get a lap dance. From You." My eye's widened, shocked, but he continued. "I want that perfectly plump ass shaking in my face, while you strip."**

**"You're an ass," I shot back. I bit my lip, and considered his offer, though. We'd been teasing each other all night, and now, here we were, in his livening room, both in our underwear. How did we get to this point? We were always very careful with our teasing, trying not to let it get out of hand, so, to reach this point...**

**"Are you gonna back out, or should I deal."**

**Stubbornness. That was the answer. Stubbornness, and a whole lot of mutual attraction, but for the most part, our unwillingness to be upstaged or outshown by the other. "I deal." He started to protest, but I stopped him mid-whine. "It's my ass on the line. Literally. I deal." My voice brokered no argument, but I felt none of the confidence I tried to exude. This was insane.**

**A knowing grin spread across his weathered features. He tossed the deck of cards at me. "Fine, then. Deal." I shuffled the cards like a pro, then held out the deck for him to cut. He looked at me quizzically, and I gave him a smug smirk. "Don't want to be accused of cheating _when_ I win," I informed him. He nodded, his face becoming blank, then he cut the deck. I dealt our hands, then I fought to not hold my breath as I looked at my cards. _Don't give him a tell. Don't blink, don't hold your breath, don't move a facial muscle, and for god's sake, don't toy with anything, _I scolded myself, trying to keep my face blank, reminding myself that the bastard at the opposite end of the table picked up on everything.**

**"Praying mantis females eat the heads of the males after they mate." Sure enough, he'd pick _that_ particular fact to share at this moment. _Dammit to hell,_ I thought, frantically. _He's got one hell of a good hand. He only tosses out facts like that when he knows he's got me. FUCK._ I had a the makings of a good hand, a pair of nine's, and an Ace, which were high.**

**I looked up at him, and he had a roguish grin on his face. "Are you afraid that I might do that?"**

**I watched him pale slightly, then grin. "You would've done that the first time around." He winked at me. "Show me your hand, sweetheart. I hope you're handicap accessible."**

**"That confident, eh?" I responded, giving him a shrewd look. "How do I know you're just not trying to get me to fold?"**

**"The yoga mat you keep in your office means you fold nicely. I can only hope that means you'll fold for me." He tapped his long, elegant fingers on his cards, which were lying face down on the table. "I have dreams about your sweet ass, you know."**

**"Why doesn't that surprise me," I rolled my eyes. I'd endured enough of his comments about my ass on a daily basis. I looked at the cards I'd flipped over on the table. I still had my pair, but the cards wouldn't help me. Summoning up all of my confidence, I showed my hand. "Hope you can beat my pair." I jiggled my chest for emphasis, then sat primly in my chair, hoping he'd been bluffing.**

**A wolfish smile spread over his features. He grinned, showing his teeth. Suddenly, I felt like Little Red Riding Hood, and Greg was a very intimidating, very scary Big, Bad Wolf.**

**"How are your pole dancing skills," he asked, his eyes widening with feigned innocence as he flipped over his cards, one at a time, enjoying drawing out my nervousness. Oh why in the hell had I agreed to this? What was going through my mind. This was a huge mistake, but I couldn't back out. My stubborn pride would not let me, but it wouldn't keep me from regretting this...**

**He revealed his cards with the precision of a brain surgeon, but with the flair of a magician. For a moment, my mind drifted at how skilled those long fingers were, and the wicked, wicked things they could do to me.**

**We'd shared a night once, but we'd been young, in college. I hadn't know then, but he'd spoiled me on lovers. Now, with twenty years of experience under our belts, I couldn't help but wonder if it would be even more intense, or if it was just wishful thinking on my part...**

**"Jack." His voice jarred me out of my thoughts. "Deuce." He flipped over another card with a flourish. "Ace." Then, the smug smirk that usually rested on his lips. "Ten of diamonds." He hesitated, watching me closely. There was a feral glint to those intense blue eyes. He had me. My stomach dropped, and he flipped over the card. "Ten of hears." He leaned back in his chair, and suddenly, I felt like a very small fish in the presence of a very big shark.**

_**A/N -**_

_**For readers of my fics, A Cold Winter's Eve, London Fog, and Fragile Illusion...**_

_**I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU!!!!!**_

_**I have been EXTREMELY BUSY, and have had internet problems. Which sucks. Rather than having you wait a month in between posts, I'm asking for your further patience, and I am trying to actually finish my fics (or, get far enough ahead in them), so I can post them in a steady rhythm. I hope you can forgive me for this extended hiatus, which was NOT planned. As soon as I have a comfortable margin, I will begin posting them again.**_

_**I miss writing, and I hate that RL has become a pain. *Sigh* I wish I could live in my fantasy world 24/7, but alas, I cannot.  
**_

_**Thank you for bearing with me. You, the ever important reader, is why I do this, and I hope you find it worth it.**_

_**Yours in Service,**_

_**ImNC  
**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N – Thanks everyone, for reading and reviewing.**_

_**The next part contains smut...can't say I didn't warn you.**_

_**Rated M for smut, and for swearing.  
**_

_**As always, I own nothing but an old notebook, DS owns House, but I thank him for sharing!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**Chapter Two**

**Queen of Hearts**

Stupidity and pride. They went hand in hand. He was leaning back in his chair, waiting.

Waiting for me to live up to my end of the bargain.

Well, let's just say I don't back down from anything or anyone, even though it may be smarter to cut my losses and run. The problem is, then, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I can regret an action, but I can't forgive myself for backing off.

I stood up, and I gave him a sultry look. His eyes are, surprisingly, not drawn to my breasts, but my face. The look on his face is almost unreadable. There's lust, of course, but something else, a sort of respect. He knows I'm not the type of woman to throw myself at a man. In fact, our first official meeting, after the incident in the bookstore, was to call him an egotistical ass, after I threw a beer in his face.

I guess we've always had a love-hate relationship. Mutually assured attraction and destruction.

It had hurt when he didn't call me back, but it hadn't surprised me. Greg House is, was, and will always be a ladies man, and women, despite his attempts to drive them away, will ALWAYS be attracted to him. Take Cameron making doe-eyes at him every time he acknowledges her presence. I try not to make moon-eyes at him, but I can deny the sheer masculine aura that he has. I'm like a moth to a flame.

And I know I'm going to get burned, but the heat will burn so good.

I encircled him, dragging a manicured nail over his back, watching him watch me. He shifted in his seat, the rampant erection he sported poking up through his dark blue boxers. He scooted the seat back, staring at me intently.

I twisted around him, straddling his lap, careful to avoid the deep scar on his thigh. I stretched my arms over my head, arching my back a little. He smiled appreciatively, then I leaned back, exposing my throat to him, thrusting my breasts in his face. I slowly straightened, giving him a good look, then reached behind me, unsnapping the bra. I heard him hiss through his teeth as a slowly drew the strip of cloth away from my chest, feeling my nipples harden as the cold air hit them.

"Jesus, Lisa," he breathed, his eyes plastered on the rosy tips. "You really need to let the girls out more often. I'm sure they get scared of the dark, being confined like that."

"Do you want to touch them?" I began to gyrate my hips against his groin, and a deep warmth started to pool in my lower abdomen. He hissed, and pulled me closer, reaching between us to grip himself. He adjusted himself so his erection, now free from the boxers now pressed hard against my belly.

He traced my form with his fingertips, calloused from years of guitar and piano playing. He moved to my chest, lightly thrumming my nipples. I felt the shock go right to my core, and I felt myself get even wetter. One of his hands ran up my spine to my neck. He cradled my skull, pulling my face down to his. "I'd rather taste you," he told me, huskily, then kissed me.

Ohmyfuckinggod! Greg House was one helluva good kisser. He tasked like scotch and cigars, but it was the greatest taste in the world. His velvety tongue traced my lips, the gently demanded entrance. I opened my mouth, and his tongue looked for mine. It was a wet kiss, with lots of tongue and teeth. I gently bit his lower lip, and I found my hips rocking against him in that ages old rhythm.

His hand slipped between us, and he brushed the thin lace of my thong aside. He broke off our kiss, finding more interest in nibbling along my jaw and neck while teasing the thicket of soft curls that hid my core.

"Ssssorrry. I..I didn't think I had to trim," I moaned, slightly embarrassed, pressing my breasts against his chest, arching my back.

I turned my head slightly, allowing him to him to nibble up my jaw to my ear. He gently bit the lobe, all the while fingering the dampening curls between my legs. "Don't worry," he breathed. "I like it untrimmed. Gives me something to tease, and I don't have to worry about stubble." As if for emphasis, he brushed his cheek against my jaw, his bristly scruff abrading the soft skin.

He licked and kissed his way down to my collarbone, then down to the valley between my breasts. He nuzzled the valley, deciding then to slip a finger into my core.

"Jesus, Lisa!" he groaned, fingering me lightly. He pulled his face away from my chest, and he looked at me intently. "I gave him a small smile, and he took the opportunity to kiss me, again. As his tongue rasped against mine, his hand began to move again, and it wasn't long until I was moaning into his mouth while I bucked in rhythm to his hand. For a long moment, I teetered on the edge, trying desperately to break through it. It was right there; right in my reach. Greg pulled his mouth from mine, and he slid his bristly chin down my neck and over the slope of my breast. I arched my back, digging my nails into his strong shoulders.

He nuzzled my taut nipple, then he took it in his mouth. He suckled it at the same rhythm he was using to slid his finger in and out of me. I rocked against him, feeling the pressure building in my lower belly build to intense levels. Between his mouth on my breast, and his fingers dancing inside of me, I couldn't concentrate. All I could do was feel, and the pressure burst. I felt my inner walls contract with force, then, all I could feel was mindless pleasure as stars danced before my eyes.

A few moments later, I found my head buried in the space where his neck met his shoulders, my pants heating the soft skin there. I was draped across his chest, pressing as close to him as possible, and his arms were wrapped around me, keeping my limp form from sliding to the floor.

We didn't talk for several seconds, then I felt him lightly thrust his erection into my flat belly. I felt the thin film of pre-cum spread itself which each gentle thrust. I pulled my face from the crook of his neck, and I grinned sheepishly at him. He smirked at me. "Do you think you can repeat that, louder this time?" he asked me, sarcastically. "I don't think the neighbors' heard about what I stud I am.

I felt my face heat, and I tried to hide my face in his shoulder again, but one of his large hands shot up and cradled the back of my skull. The look he gave me was pure lust, and he pushed my head down gently, but firmly, and he kissed me, forcing me to momentarily forget about my embarrassment. All I could think about was trying to inhale him, his masculine presence driving me mad.

I reached down between us, and I took his hard length in my hand, lighting running my fingertips along it, feeling the suede like texture. He hissed, and kissed me harder; I'd have whisker burn around my mouth later, but right now, I could care less. I felt the vein-y texture of him in my hand, encircling the large head with my thumb, feeling him weep with anticipation.

I pulled my mouth away from his, panting for breath. "Do you have a condom?" I asked, my rational mind making a slight comeback. Greg wasn't exactly discrete when it came to his hookers; We've had more than one Board meeting centered around his propositioning hookers in the foyer before, and I didn't feel like taking home an STD from this little encounter.

He nodded, his pupil's fully dilated with arousal. "Top drawer in my nightstand," he instructed me, breathing hard. I reluctantly slipped off of his lap, my knees still a little weak from my orgasm from the foreplay. I padded down the hallway to his room. I didn't flip on the light, instead, I let the dirty orange streetlight that filtered in through the dusty windows illuminate the room.

I was just pulling open the drawer when I heard his limping gait follow me around the hallway. I didn't turn around, I just froze in place. He came up, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me to him. He'd taken off his boxers, and he was now completely nude. "Thought the bed might be more comfortable than the chair," he murmured, nuzzling my neck. His hands dropped to my waist, and he pushed down the thin, lacy hem of my thong, dropping it to the floor. His erection prodded my hip, letting me know his excitement. I took a deep breath, then turned in his arms. He lowered his head, and brushed my lips with his. "I've dreamed of this moment for a long time," he admitted, his voice low and husky with desire.

I didn't know what to say, so I simple climbed into bed. He slipped in after me, and he leaned his back against the headboard. Wordlessly, I slipped the condom over his straining erection, then straddled him, resting all my weight on my knees and shins. We kissed, this time, slower, and deeper, taking the time to taste each other. He reached between us with one hand, and he guided himself to my entrance. With the other, he gripped my hip, gently lowering me down on him.

I gripped his shoulders tightly. Greg was big, and I hissed as he slowly pushed up in me. He gently held on to my hips, kissing me as our bodies mingled. For a moment, we didn't move. I could feel my inner walls shift around him, accommodating him. I felt a fullness that I hadn't felt in a long time. _Twenty years_, a voice from the deep recesses of my mind echoed. From the way his muscles corded from strain on his neck, I could tell he was having problems maintaining control.

I wiggled a bit against him, and he drew in a sharp breath. "Unless you want the ride to be over, don't." He opened up those baby blues, and his gaze held mine. He slowly, sinfully slowly, began to thrust up. He guided my hips into a painfully slow rhythm, and after a few fumbles, we found our perfect rhythm.

His hands slipped up to my breasts, and he teased my already sensitive nipples as I felt the pressure build with in me again. He rubbed against all the right spots, and, soon, our pace, and our moans, quickened.

I didn't want it to be over. I wanted to extend this moment as long as I could, but a keening wail of pleasure bubbled up from my throat. I tossed my head back, arcing my back as the friction from our joining built up. Like static electricity, it had to release, and when it did, it was like an explosion, and bright, blinding lights danced before my eyes while my whole body felt like it was on fire. I vaguely remember hearing his own shout of triumph as he forcefully thrust in me, his cock twitching and jerking. I slumped against him, our bodies both covered in sweat, our breaths pants as we tried to recover.

For what seemed like a long time, I hovered in that gray place between sleep and wakefulness, too spent to move. A physical release like that was just what the doctor ordered, and it did both mind and the body good. I listened to the steady thrum of his heart beat, so strong, as my head rested on his chest. His arms were limply wrapped around me, unwilling to let me go.

I barely remember him reluctantly pushing me off of his chest, and the bed squeaking as he got out of it. I remember hearing the water faucet in the bathroom run, then nothing.

** ** ** ** **

When I woke up, the first thing I remembered was that it was Saturday, and I could sleep in. I was laying on my stomach, my head twisted to the side. I was warm, but something wasn't right. I cracked open a bleary eye, looking for the familiar surroundings of my room. What I saw was alien. Where were my things? Where was I?

I heard a snort from beside me, and I twisted my head. Greg lay next to me, innocent in sleep. He was on his side, but his arm was stretched out, his large palm resting on my lower back, eager, even in sleep, to keep contact. The events from the previous night came flooding back, and a sleek satisfaction flooded my body.

Then he opened his eyes.

Morning afters suck. Especially after a one night stand. The space between us felt like a gulf, and suddenly, I felt very awkward.

I stirred, sliding out of the large sleigh bed. He rolled over on his back, folding his arms behind his neck. I turned towards him, half ashamed of my nakedness, but I would not let it show; I had the rest of the weekend to regret this, I wouldn't start it by showing my regret in front of him.

"Getting an eyeful?"

"You bet." He smirked, watching my form as I picked my underwear off the floor. "I want to remember your naked tush forever."

"Take a picture; it'll last longer," I smarted back, then I ducked behind his bed as he picked up his phone. "Don't you dare!" I gasped, the thought of pictures of me naked being tacked up around PPTH."

"Relax, Lisa! Jesus! I was just checking my text messages." The smirk on his face was not lost on me. "Shit," he groaned, tossing back his covers. He began rooting in his drawers for a fresh pair of boxers. "Foreman texted me last night. Apparently, I've got a patient." He paused next to me, his presence nearly overwhelming me. "Expect a phone call about a dangerous procedure sometime today," he winked. "And don't let the thought of my huge, throbbing..."

"I get the picture," I cut him off. I started to turn away, but he darted out a hand and stopped me. He plucked the thong underwear from my hand, and grinned. "A souvenir," he explained. Before I could argue, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me to dress and leave alone.

** ** ** ** **

I dreaded Monday morning. I had no idea what awaited me. Greg had called, on Sunday, and I told him to do more tests. I'd deal with that today. I stood in the hot shower, my hands trailing over my soapy body, thinking back to Friday night. It had been a mistake. An alcohol instigated mistake. At least, that's what I told myself. My body, on the other hand, didn't think it was all that wrong.

I clicked my way into the hospital an hour and a half later, infused by coffee and my desire to see my hospital. I stopped briefly by the nurse's station to see if there were any messages.

"Got the girls on display," a grating voice called from the balcony. I craned my head up, and there he stood, grinning at me. "From this vantage point, they're top notch."

"House," I said in a warning tone. "Enjoy the view, because that's the best look you'll see of them." I paused. "What are you doing here this early?"

"Patient," he answered tersely. From his tone, I could tell it wasn't going well. "I need to do a spinal tap on the sister."

"Because, you want to inflict pain on her?"

"No," he snarked back. "Because she's a masochist and will enjoy it." He pursed his lips, furrowing his brow. "Because she has the same disease; it's genetic. It has to be. We've ruled everything else out."

"And still isn't showing any symptoms?"

He grumbled something under his breath. "No, she's not," he admitted harshly. "But it's the woman's last shot!"

"Have you done any te..."

"Inconclusive," he answered quickly, before I could finish.

I paused, thinking. "Do it." I reluctantly agreed.

He looked visibly relieved. "Thanks." He picked up his cell. "Go. Do." He barked into the phone. "Yes she agreed," he told whichever team member it was on the other end. "You wouldn't believe the perks you get for sexually harassing the boss," he crowed, winking at me. He headed off to the elevators, and I rolled my eyes, secretly planning his death.

Nurse Brenda glanced over at me. "Why do you put up with his crap?" she asked, disapprovingly.

_Because he gave me one hell of an orgasm_. The thought rose unbidden into my mind. Instead, I answered my usual spiel, "because he's the best damn doctor we have, and despite his words, he doesn't grope the nurses like Dr. McFeely. She groaned, knowing about the touchy-feely proctologist, but she nodded.

I headed to my office, and sat down. I'd survived my first encounter with House, and he hadn't mentioned anything other than the usual sexual harassment. I exhaled deeply, then looked down on my desk.

There lay a single red rose bud, and attached to it was the queen of hearts. Inscribed on the card was a simple message: "Same time, next week." I smiled, my fingers running over the thorny stem. Then, I started to work.

The End.


End file.
